#scenebreak
The tinkle of breaking glass woke me out of a sound sleep and dreams too randy to describe here. Instantly alert, I rolled away from the window and crouched behind the bed, images of supple female flesh exchanged for fear of the cold steel of a baseball bat.
Was the “sick little twist” after me now? I’d just moved there!
“Ethan?” Dad crouched in the doorway in his old-fashioned boxers. He knew about Tango’s car and he wore his Protective Father face. He gestured to the other window, the one that didn’t have glass sparkling beneath it.
Feeling very Sam and Dean Winchester, I nodded and we rolled over the bed to huddle under the window, peering into the night. He drew me close protectively, in case he had to throw me out of harm’s way. Was it wrong for me to smile at that, even with the adrenaline rushing my brain?
The street light silhouetted a familiar shape.
“Tango?” I yanked the window open despite Dad’s warning tug on my shoulders.
She looked sheepish, standing under the broken pane. When she saw me, she crept the few feet to stand directly under me and Dad. When she noticed my sidekick, her eyes opened wide. “Mr. Foxtrot, er, Mr. Fox,” she stage-whispered. “I’m. so. sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Dad looked at me out of the corner of his eye, letting me take the inquisition.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Is something wrong? What are you doing out alone?”
“I told you I’m not letting anyone stop my life. I wanted to talk to you.” She made a rather elaborate series of shrugs. “All my friends have rooms on the first floor. In the movies, people throw a rock to get someone’s attention.” She shrugged some more. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” She glanced at Dad. “I’m so sorry about the window, Mr. Fox. I’ll pay to have it fixed.”
Dad and I glanced at the fist sized rock lying on my carpet. “In the movies, they normally use pebbles,” Dad whispered.
“She’s never one to do things halfway,” I told him. “I’ll take care of it out of the money I’m getting from coaching her.”
“I’m so-o-o-o sorry,” drifted up to us.
He must have seen the pleading in my face. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Okay, Cyrano, go meet Roxane.”
“Give me a minute,” I called out the window.
She smiled.
Goosebumps.
Dad grabbed my shoulders. “You meet her outside.” He glanced down. “Wearing pants.” He held a finger at my nose. “Do not bring her up here.”
“Dad.”
“Please.” He gave me his how-Disney-do-you-think-I-am look while I pulled on my clothes. “I’m perfectly aware my little boy’s already been deflowered.”
Really?
“This girl has a stalker. For all we know Officer Warren already has an Amber alert on her.”
Okay. . . creepy, but logical.
“Also, for being Cool Dad, I earn the right to have you come tell me what happens.” He grinned.
That got him another, “Dad!”
He chucked my shoulder.
“Dad?”
He stopped in the doorway.
“Thanks for being Cool Dad. . . and for coming to my rescue in the middle of the night.”
He smiled one of the first genuine smiles I’d seen on him in a while. “Can’t let my sidekick get hurt, can I?”
“Hey, you’re the sidekick.” I stopped with one leg out the window. “I have someone waiting for me outside. That’s hero stuff.”
“I thought the hero was the one throwing stones up at the girl’s window.”
“Dad, that is so-o-o twentieth century and sexist. We’re living in a post-queer world, after all.” Thanks, Corey.
He barked one short laugh. “Sometimes, Ethan, you’re even gayer than I am.” He stood with one hand on the door jamb. “Stand in a street light, son. Wait for this to get cleared up before you go for the serious wooing.”
“Wooing? Should I serenade her with On the Street Where You Live?”
He froze in confusion. Ha! Totally Kirked him with the musical theater reference.
I raised a hand. “That was ironic, Dad. Go to bed.”
Without giving him time to razz me, I climbed out, scrambled down the tree and dropped lightly on the grass beside Tango. “’Sup?” The casual, agile hero had landed. I could’ve just gone out the front door since I had Cool Dad’s permission, but where’s the panache in that?
She smiled at my blatant attempt at suave. “Hi.” God, she was pretty in the moonlight. “I’m really sorry about the window.” She shifted all her weight to one foot.
“It’s cool.”
She fidgeted. “I figured you’re from Austin and you’re a dancer, so late nights are the norm.”
I chuckled. “Even with a psycho stalker out there somewhere?” I maneuvered us under a streetlight.
“Don’t be an ass.” She punched me in the arm. “In a town this small, the worst he’ll do is. . . trash my car.” She held up a hand. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about that piece of shit.”
Okay. The fact that she was out alone at night meant she had something important on her mind. I gave her time to say her piece.
“This is going to sound stupid, but I can’t stop thinking about what you did for Taco.” She shoved her hands into her pockets, which made her jeans tighter. Too bad I wasn’t standing behind her. “It was brilliant and totally different from your training videos.” She paused. “You know. . . from the tiny bits I’ve watched.”
Score. She’d definitely watched every one of them.
“Where’d that come from?” she asked.
“You.”
She started, but she smiled. “Me?”
“And my dad. The way you break stuff down reminded me of the way my dad coaches.” I crossed my arms. “For years it’s been all about winning when I dance. Win this trophy. Win that comp.” I shrugged. “So that’s how I taught. If they couldn’t get it, it was their problem, not mine. But when I was in Dad’s gym, it was stress release and fun. If the guys got too macho for their own good, he’d have costume days, like pirates or military stuff. . . or ninjas. It kept things from getting too intense.” I chuckled. “He got away with it ‘cause he’s gay and he made sure the games were still kind of. . . dude.”
“No princess costumes?”
“No princess costumes.” I shrugged again. “When you and I were working together? It was fun. You kept slowing me down and cracking jokes and. . . it showed me that dance can be fun, too.”
“Dance wasn’t fun?”
I sort of chuckled and shook my head. “Believe it or not, I never even thought about it that way.” So many thoughts I wanted to share. “I met Monika when we started performing together at eight. Once we were competing? It wasn’t about fun, it was about winning.”
All those trophies and awards seemed so pointless now. “But Dad’s gym was fun. He knew I was never going to focus on it enough to be a great boxer, so it was just about spending time with him and hanging out with the guys.” Deep breath. “It was like that when you were teaching me tango, too. You didn’t care if I got good at it. It was just nice to dance together.” More than “nice,” but, hey, why throw all the cards down at once?
Her face was happy and. . . happy is enough, I guess.
“So,” I said, “when I realized Taco wasn’t going to make it, I asked myself what Dad would do. Breaking out the old school hip hop? That’s what Dad would do.”
She bit her lip as her expression turned more concerned than happy. It was sexy as hell, but what was her visit really about? She shook her head and looked away.
Then it all made sense: Corey would never have thought of a way to fix everything. He was a good guy. Sincere, devoted. . . but that’s not what she really wanted, was it?
A couple of months ago, I would’ve swept her into my manly arms and kissed her before she had time to think abo
ut it. Tonight was different. Tonight was post-douchebag. “Sooner or later, Tango, you’re going to break his heart.”
She sucked in a breath, as if I’d read her mind. Then she sighed. “I don’t want to do that.” She paced. “He’s a great guy, Foxtrot. Sincere. Kind. Thoughtful, in his own weird way.”
Okay, it wasn’t bizarre that she chose me for this conversation?
She stopped pacing. “You taught him salsa?”
How’d she find out?
“Please.” She made a face. “You told me there was a birthday surprise and it took me all of thirty seconds to wheedle it out of him.” She hung her head. “That’s the whole problem in a nutshell.” She looked up at me. “He doesn’t even realize he told me the secret.”
I couldn’t stop the words that came out of my mouth. “Don’t break up with him for me.”
I sort of expected some crack about not flattering myself, but she was too smart for lame pretense. “It didn’t matter before. None of the guys in this town are rocket scientists. . .” She paused. “Well, except for the guys who will actually be rocket scientists, but they have issues of their own.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Damn it, Foxtrot, why did I come out here at two o’clock and throw a rock at your window?”
I kept my silence, which earned me her attractive hands-on-hips hip jut.
I couldn’t move.
So she rushed through the space between us and kissed me.
Strawberries.
My heart beat faster and sent blood surging to all sorts of interesting places. My hands went around her waist and pulled her closer so I felt the warmth of her body against mine. She fit perfectly there, like she belonged.
But it was wrong.
Fully aware that I was the girl in this situation, I moved my hands from her waist to her arms and gently pushed her away. “I won’t do this to Corey,” I whispered. I couldn’t make myself let go of her arms. “I’m not a douchebag, anymore.” It took every ounce of willpower to pry my fingers from her soft skin. “Don’t break up with him for me.”
I wanted to tell her, “Hell yeah, break up with him.” I wanted to tell her how much I wanted to be with her, how I finally understood that lame cliché about butterflies in my stomach, something I’d never experienced before.
But I was not a self-centered douchebag anymore. I released her arms, folding mine across my chest to restrain them. I hated the pain in her face and that I had caused it.
She stuffed her hands into her pockets. There were dozens of clichéd, crappy things either of us could’ve said. We even could’ve gone for clever or snarky. The better part of wisdom, a wise man once said, is knowing when to keep your mouth shut. Or something like that.
A brief siren blast and flash of red and blue police lights ensured that neither of us said anything stupid or unnecessary. A spotlight hit us, blinding me. “Hold it right there,” Officer Friendly shouted as he jumped out of the car.
“For crying out loud, Warren, turn off the spot,” Tango called. “We’re standing under a streetlight.” She gestured at the nearby houses. “Or do you really want everyone in the neighborhood to wake up and find out you’ve apprehended nothing more than two people engaged in a perfectly innocent conversation?”
He reached in and killed the spot. “Your mom’s freaking out.”
Tango pulled her cell out of a pocket. “Oh, crap. I had the ringer off.” Her fingers flashed across the screen. “Double crap.” She gave Officer Friendly an acidic glare. “You called Boyfriend, too?”
The cop tried to puff up and look dignified, but he was only a couple of years older than us and skinny as a rail. “There was a crime committed against you today. When your mother discovered you weren’t in your bed. . .”
“Don’t pull that South Park Respect my Authori-tay crap, Warren. You went out with my best friend.” She held the cell out to him. “Great. Now every person I know is awake and worried, thank you very much.”
Warren tried to recover his dignity, but she cut him off with a wave of the cell. He deflated. “Sorry, Tango. I’m just trying to help. You really shouldn’t be out like this when some maniac just trashed your car.”
Hmmm. . . the nickname had already caught on outside the crew. Sweet.
She slid the cell into a pocket. “I needed Foxtrot’s advice. He’s new to town and I wanted him to keep an eye out, you know, for anyone who might be acting weird around me.” Her eyes met mine. Nice.
Officer Friendly eyed me suspiciously. “I think you should leave the investigation to the professionals, Tango.” Wow, he really seemed to hate me. What the hell?
She scoffed. “No offense, Warren, but without Sheriff Olmos in town, we have you and Pal. You’ve been cops for, what? A week?”
“All right, Tango,” he blustered. “I may have dated your best friend—briefly—but I am an officer of the law, and at least a little bit of respect would be nice.”
Juicy dated him? Seriously? Did she hate herself?
Tango scoffed again and headed toward his car. “Please. Just give me a ride home.” She glanced at me. “Keep your eyes open?”
“Absolutely.”
Officer Friendly stared at me for a second with squinty eyes. Was that something they taught in Dumass cop school? I guessed he wanted me to remember that he’d never dated my best friend and so I still had to respect the badge. He actually tapped it and pointed at me before stalking off to the car.
Thank God he turned as quickly as he did, because there was no way I could’ve stifled my laugh for a second longer. No point in pissing off the local law enforcement. Especially with Dad’s recent troubles. With the actual man in charge out of town, this pissant deputy really seemed to need to throw his weight around.
As they drove off, she didn’t look at me or wave. Once again, I convinced myself she’d wanted to but feared giving Warren the wrong impression. Or the right one, actually.
Shitstix.
And now, Dad expected me to wake him up and tell him all the juicy details.
Like what? An amazing girl came to me in the middle of the night to pour her heart out, in spite of the potential dangers. She gave me a hot, wood-producing kiss. And I sent her off to her boyfriend because I’m too much of a gentleman and I respect the dude too much to hurt him. Which pretty much meant I was more gay than Dad. Except, you know, for the wood part.
Deep breath.
I ambled into the house. As I opened the front door, Dad whispered my name. What was he doing in the dark? He lit a lamp so I could spot him near the front window. He twitched the curtains closed.
“Were you spying on me?” I asked, not pissed off, but utterly surprised, because he’d never, ever been that dad.
He held up a hand. “After you went out the window, I couldn’t stop thinking that if the stalker would completely trash her car, what might he do to the guy she was meeting in the middle of the night?” He peeked out between the curtains. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop myself.”
“No. I appreciate it.” I dropped into a chair. “I guess I should start being more careful.” Weird. Small towns were supposed to be safer.
He sat on the edge of the couch closest to me and nudged my knee with one hand. “So? You promised to tell Cool Dad everything.” God, it was good to see him smile again. Almost made it worth it that he’d seen Tango kiss me.
“You saw everything. What’s to tell?”
He leaned back with his hands behind his head. “Well, I couldn’t hear anything.” He grinned. “When you stopped the extraordinarily hot chick from kissing you, I couldn’t tell if you were being a gentleman or if you’d finally decided to prove the homophobes right by turning gay because of my corrupting influence.”
Now do you see where I get it?
eight
Son of a bitch, bitch, bitch! Everything had failed, had sent Katy running to Fo
x. Magic was bullshit. If only he could get her alone. That was it. He needed to take her somewhere he could be alone with her until she saw how much she loved him and realized how perfect they would be together. Alone.
He ran a fingertip over a photo of her face on his wall. He leaned close and sniffed the sweater pinned below the photo, but it’d been thrown out. It didn’t smell like her. The sweater, and the skirt below it, was arranged in a dancer pose. A figure four, Katy called it. Similar icons of her danced across every wall of his bedroom, watching over him. He lit a cinnamon candle and lay back on the bed, already naked, already aroused as his love looked down at him from every direction. The flickering flame radiated her scent.
How could he get her alone?